It’s been a few months since the incident. A few months since your faithful, infatuated husband had attempted to kidnap you. Well, the two of you were living together in the first place, it was more of a ‘drug and keep’ situation. And it would’ve been exactly that if you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

You had been taught how to deal with those situations, and you had managed to make a narrow escape. You left to another country. At first, Canada. And then Rome. And then England. It wasn’t the most glamorous of places you could’ve gone, but it was the only place you could think of going. What if he was still after you? You weren’t sure what to do if that was the case.

But over time, you became a little less suspicious. A little less cautious. You managed to pull yourself away from everything that happened and live your life like absolutely nothing had happened to you. It was the only thing you could actually do.

But he was smart enough to stay hidden from you. He had indirectly caused you to stop worrying about everything. He did feel bad for the strain he put on your emotions in the first place, but after stopping his stalker-like habits, he managed to get you to calm down. Of course, Joe was a lot smarter than just letting you be on your own though.

He loved you, and he would do anything for you. He just wasn’t sure why you didn’t see it the same way as he did.

He was getting impatient, too. And he couldn’t help when on one of the days you returned from work, he had watched you and managed to get back into your house. He slipped something into the drink you made for yourself, and you soon found yourself passed out on the couch, book over your lap.

At least you still had a love for books.

He secured your wrists tightly to the chair (because he wouldn’t let you escape— no matter what). “Hello, you.” He mumbled as you began to stir from whatever he had given you, kneeling down in front of you, his hands threading through your hair.